


acts of service

by a3hihi (henriddas_quill)



Category: A3! (Anime), A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Other, Sick Character, hi this is my comfort fic woink, omi is self deprecating but he’s working on it, reader is from the same college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-20 08:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30002325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henriddas_quill/pseuds/a3hihi
Summary: Omi has this whole dinner planned: he’s got the food, the DVD, the timing. Then he starts feeling too warm.Omi gets a fever and you attempt to take care of him!
Relationships: Fushimi Omi/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	acts of service

As you open your door, Omi looks like he’s about to fall over.  
He wears a simple jacket and pants, arms full of ingredients and legs swaying a bit. He’s a tad paler than usual, but you can’t tell for sure. Just after he knocked on your door, you had finished cramming a week’s worth of projects, quickly shuffling papers away and keeping your pencils before meeting him. You assume he’d been practicing for his play as well, all the while juggling work and school.

“Hey.” He gives you a weak smile.  
“Hi. You okay?” you ask, wrapping your arms around him. Given the circumstances, that was more to stop him from wobbling than to hug him.  
“I’m fine.” He kisses the top of your head. That leads you to squawk in surprise, to his amusement.

Still hugging, the both of you continue a weird waddle into your dorm. He’s cold, fresh from walking through the grocery store.  
“I got the eggs.” He moves an arm to brightly present an egg carton.  
“Give me a few minutes and we’ll have an omelette ready.”

You nod, but you see his arm waver from carrying a simple carton.  
“Ah, I can carry it.” You reach up and take it to the kitchen, Omi following behind you.   
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to have a hard time. Besides, I’m the cook tonight.”   
Ever since Omi started coming over, the kitchen’s been stocked with ingredients for him. You were used to instant noodles and takeout, but after a long conversation, you agreed to let him teach you how to cook more decent meals.

Omi walks over to the hooks on your wall, grabbing an apron with his name on it. He chuckles as you tie it behind his back. You’d have to ask him how to sew patches into it sometime.  
He quickly approaches your counter, takes a bowl, and cracks the egg yolks into it.  
You wait for him to continue, but he seems to be standing motionless.  
You peer up at him and you see his eyes flutter.  
“Is something wrong?”

Omi blinks back into reality.   
“Sorry. I just need to focus more.”  
He grabs a fork, but you catch his wrist before he starts whisking, earning you an “ah” from him.  
“Wait a second, please,” brushing the back of your hand on his forehead.  
“Your forehead’s hot.”  
“That it is,” he says, not moving from his spot in the kitchen.  
“So,” you continue, gently placing the fork down, “you should rest.”  
“I could whip this up real quick. I don’t want to waste any food, you know?”  
“Omi, I’m very sure you have a fever right now. Please stop?”

You see him loosen up as he nods. There’s a weird feeling of guilt on him while he takes the apron off.  
“I hope this doesn't get me in the hospital,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. “Too expensive.”  
“Hey now, no one said anything about the hospital.” You touch his arm.   


Knowing him, he’d only want to see a doctor if it was absolutely necessary. Had you gotten at least a scrape, though, he’d rush you to the clinic right away. That was one of the things you’d learned early about Omi, and you were willing to go through that as much as possible.  
You cup his cheek. “And even if you needed to go, I’d come with you.”   
He sighs, finally resigning from the food. “If you say so.”

After you lead him to your bed, which wasn’t too far away given the size of your dorm, you rush to the bathroom for a towel.  
Wringing a wet towel between your hands, you run back to find Omi sitting at your bed’s corner, tapping his leg on the floor.  
You take a seat to him. “Um. Scooch over, will you?”  
“Oh, of course.” He moves closer to the edge of the bed, patting the middle so you could reach the pillows.  
You pat the middle as well, but he doesn’t budge aside from laying his legs on the mattress, sitting up straight like a Lego.  
“Omi, you’re supposed to be the one resting today.”  
He grimaces at that.   
“No, no, I’m fine just staying here.”  
He picks at his nails.   
“I should at least make you a snack,” he says, getting up before you lightly push him back down.

Had you known Omi for a short time, you wouldn’t expect him to pout, especially when you consider his first impression for most people. But his expression at the moment was unbelievably close to sulking.  
“Please, you’ve been waiting for so long.” He takes your hand. “How was your day?"  
“Well, my thesis-- Hey, don’t try and change the topic! You need to stay here and relax!”  
“I didn’t mean to change the topic.” He frowns.  
You sigh. “You’re sick, Omi.” You get up and head to the kitchen.   
“I’m going to make tea and you can’t stop me,” you call out. “Stay put for me?”  
You take his silence as permission and get to work.

"Also, can we deliver something for dinner?"  
You hear a long sigh before him saying "Yep!"

You fish out the calming tea-- chamomile, you remember him mentioning-- and briskly mix it in a mug he’d bought for you. Man, you really should practice this when he’s not around. It’d be embarrassing to screw this up while he’s sick.   
You walk back to your room and hand him the tea. It’s warm in his hands, and you see his cheeks flush as he takes a sip.

His eyes widen and you panic.  
“Did I screw it up--”  
“You didn’t make tea for yourself?”  
You must look pretty frazzled with the way he’s holding your arm, like he’s trying to calm you down. That wasn’t the goal right now, and it was shaking you up further.  
"I just really wanted to help you, I guess. I’m sorry.”

He laughs quietly.  
“You don’t have to apologize.”  
He holds your wrist softly, and you wonder what happened to his attitude a moment ago.   
“We can share it.” He shows you the cup, half full, before saying “No, nevermind, it’s probably not a good idea.”  
You both sit in silence before you snort and take the cup, setting it on the desk by your bed. You take a blanket and pat it onto his lap.

“How’d you even get sick in the first place?” you say, trying not to sound nagging. You doubt that he’d think that, though.   
Omi adjusts the blanket on him.   
“Erm,” he says wisely, “I haven’t been getting the most sleep lately.”  
“And how much is that?”

Omi pretends to look around the room. He purses his lips.  
“ _Mmmmmm four a night_.”  
“Hours?” you ask.  
He gives you a wry smile.  
“ _Omi_??”

He raises his arms like he’s under arrest. “Does it help if I was awake for school?”  
“No?”  
“Also, I was meal prepping for the theater?”  
“No!”  
He shrugs in defeat. “I promise I won’t be sick for long. I can cook dinner in a while like always, no sweat.”  
“It’s not about the cooking,” you grumble. “You’ll get worse for wear at a pace like this. You need to take better care of yourself, Omi.”  
You make a point by poking his chest. He plays along and plops his back down on the mattress.   


“Why do you keep me around?” He chuckles, rolling his eyes.  
You frown and lightly punch his arm. “Please don’t make jokes like that.”   
He snickers. “Alright, alright.” There’s a hint of gratitude to his words.  
Omi closes his eyes and finally lays his head down on the pillows. It’s relieving, seeing him this relaxed for once. You try storing this image in your head (for safekeeping) as you dab a fresh towel on his forehead.

“Thank you,” he breathes.   
Your cheeks warm. “You take care of everyone around here. It’s the least I can do.”  
As Omi opens his eyes to look at you, he smiles fully, and it scrunches up his cheeks.  
He takes your hand. “It means a lot.”   
While you don’t think he intends this, you now want to implode.

Omi gives your hand a gentle tug. “C’mere.”  
Welp, it was a good thing you both finished your assignments.

You move to the side and try to wriggle your way up to Omi’s eye level. You two joked about his height before, but you didn’t expect to take so long in moving up the mattress to meet him.  
It’s soft. Laying there, he smiles again, and his eyes resemble honey in the light. You’re starting to feel a bit woozy.  
It’s warm under the covers, especially with his fever, but not too stuffy.  
He wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer.   
"This okay?”  
“Of course it’s okay, it’s you,” you murmur, letting your foreheads meet.  
Omi chuckles weakly, like it’s too good to be true, and you move his head to lay on your chest.

The blanket’s light and thin as you pull it over you both.  
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.   
“I know.”  
“I’m staying.” You play with his hair, and it’s soft.  
You’re about to drift to sleep, and he’s on the same page. Here, nursing an awful headache, Omi feels safe.  
“I’m happy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Listened to “Honeybee” by The Head And The Heart while writing this! Thank you for reading!


End file.
